


take the time

by moonmother



Series: magic boys au [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Angst, M/M, bestfriends!keo, but don't believe it, keo - Freeform, leo/ken - Freeform, magic boys au, relationship drama galore, sad boys, small mention of smoking, taekhwan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 09:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13268406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmother/pseuds/moonmother
Summary: He was everything –– is everything –– and Taekwoon knows the lack of distinction must be obvious to everyone but perhaps the one who matters most.





	take the time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeodoboleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeodoboleo/gifts).



> this was a great excuse to write magic boys taekhwn, also /sad/ boys taekhwn but don't let this part fool you. if i get the chance to write more of this au then the following parts will be considerably more light-hearted♡ (this version has also been edited/updated from the one originally posted on lj)

Taekwoon doesn’t know what Hakyeon’ll do with him. Cat eyes stare Taekwoon down –– the elongated pupils piercing into him –– and he knows that Hakyeon’s not having it tonight, will not have it. “Taekwoon,” Hakyeon says, voice ringing with a brand of seriousness that tells Taekwoon he’s gone too far. “I’m not sponsoring anymore drinks until you start paying back the tab. You’re gonna get my ass fired.”

The air is thick, outside’s thunderstorm seeping into the low-lit bar. Many have been driven inside the bar, most to satisfy the need to unwind after a long week but others to seek shelter from the rain. Taekwoon would like to belong to the latter category, but his growing tab places him in the first.

Taekwoon exhales; the humid air makes him sweat beneath his coat. He glances up to see that Hakyeon hasn’t stopped staring. The bartender almost reminds Taekwoon of a shadow as he’s dressed in all black, but the fluorescents that shine behind the counter outline and highlight him in pink –– looking like soft-glowing neon. The sparkles that Hakyeon’s dusted onto his cheekbones glitter like his eyes, the unflinching stare telling Taekwoon that he can’t shrug him off.

The heat has gone to Taekwoon’s head –– like he’s swimming through fog. Taekwoon rubs a finger on the polished wood of the bar then on his near-empty glass. “I’m getting to that.” His voice is hushed by the rest of the nightlife: music, people, the rain.

Hakyeon curls his lip. He studies Taekwoon for a moment then reaches out to tug on Taekwoon’s wet, stringy hair. “What’s wrong?” He says it on a sigh, like he’s asking a child.

It’d be an appropriate comparison, Taekwoon thinks. His over-sized coat practically swallows him whole, only fitting in his shoulders but nowhere else. The coat is wet from the rain, as wet as his hair, and he’s dripping around this bar stool. He’s not a child, but Taekwoon can’t shake the childishness that harbors inside him, antagonized by Hakyeon’s questioning.

He should be home. Drying off.

Taekwoon shrugs as an answer to Hakyeon’s question, smoothing the tip of his finger on the counter. Picking at a nick in the polished wood. Hakyeon leans forward, palms flat on the countertop. “Is it him,” he asks. There’s a slight accusation in his voice, like _Taekwoon, we’ve been over this_ , _Taekwoon, not again_ , but yes, again.

Taekwoon starts bouncing his knee, feeling too hot despite being drenched. His cheeks burn. He can’t look at Hakyeon. “He knocked on my door last night.”

“Doesn’t mean you had to let him in.”

“He was crying.” Taekwoon says it with difficulty. Like this concept is foreign and, like all foreign things, not understandable. And when you don’t understand –– when something is but you don’t know why –– this failure to comprehend can cause anger. Taekwoon’s angry but he doesn’t know where to direct it.

(Answers weren’t there in his runny eyes or sloppy words, after he came through the front door like that, practically tripping over his own two feet and nearly falling into Taekwoon –– no, oh no.)

Taekwoon’s brow bends, pulled down low at his heavy thoughts, and he says again staring at Hakyeon’s forehead, not his eyes, “He was crying.”

“And what did you do?”

“I let him in.”

 

Taekwoon leaves the bar in a swirl of steaming pavement and muggy night air. The rain has stopped, leaving only humidity in its place, like a damp cloth over Taekwoon’s mouth. The sweat continues to collect underneath his collar and in his armpits by the time he has reached his house. The now shabby home would have been the star of the neighborhood if it looked alive. Years of disrepair, however, has made it an eye-sore. Those passing through the otherwise modest neighborhood try to not stare, but the house’s ugliness attracts too much attention. It was painted off-white at some point but is now peeling in large chunks; the porch steps have bowed from years of rain and snow; a heavy windstorm blew away portions of shingles from the roof. The front door doesn’t work as it should either, Taekwoon reminds himself as he goes through his key ring, glaring at his door. But for all it’s been through, the house is still standing.

And, Taekwoon glances across his porch at his faded red shutters, it’s not all bad.

His key turns in the lock, and Taekwoon steels himself. He rams his shoulder into the door, dislodging it from where it sticks; while lifting up on the handle, he rams his body into it once more before the door gives way to show the dark depths of the house.

“Hi.”

If this was the first time, Taekwoon would have jumped out of his skin, cursed, slapped a hand across Jaehwan’s chest, and let his magic drown Jaehwan in blue energy before realizing he isn’t a stranger. But this isn’t the first time.

Taekwoon’s heart still lurched, though. The two stand in the doorway, Jaehwan waiting to the side, the door hanging open behind them. The house is dark, the only light coming from the door and his shuttered windows. Taekwoon takes a few deep breaths and lifts his hand to shine blue magic between them.

Doused in blue, Taekwoon notes that Jaehwan’s hair is curled like he set it with rollers, fingers pulled through it to loosen them. Jaehwan’s hair didn’t look like that last night; he must have fixed it up wherever he went today. He was gone when Taekwoon woke up.

Taekwoon breathes, “You didn’t think to turn on the lights?”

In a way, Taekwoon realizes this is just like all the times Jaehwan used to wait and try to scare him, not turning the lights on. It’s different because Jaehwan isn’t laughing. Different because it doesn’t feel like a joke. Jaehwan seems to know, too.

Taekwoon flicks the switch by Jaehwan’s shoulder to face the mess he’s been living in. Spell-books across the coffee table, the kitchen table; old cups of coffee stuck to these places as well and almost but not quite in the kitchen sink; blankets tossed about the couch where Jaehwan slept last night.

Taekwoon looks back over at Jaehwan to see him bouncing a small ball of yellow light between his hands, a nervous quirk of his. Jaehwan’s eyes are wide, enhanced by the liner he draws across his lids and how he darken his brows. He’s looking at his Taekwoon.

“You smell like––” Jaehwan leans in, magic dissipating between his hands, and his eyes on Taekwoon’s neck, “––I don’t know. Something alcoholic. What’d you have?”

Taekwoon doesn’t answer. He shuts the door behind him and shucks his coat to lay it over the nearest chair. He moves to the couch to tidy up –– rearranging the shape of the blankets so he can sit down–– and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. He’s still wet, and the weight of his head is almost too much to keep him upright, but Taekwoon stays sitting.

Jaehwan watches him from the doorway. And Taekwoon waits. He waits for it; he knows it’s coming.

Jaehwan has an unlit roll of powder tucked behind his ear. He holds it out now, into the space where Taekwoon is not. “I went by the little witchy store by the park. They didn’t mind me buying this.”

Taekwoon knows Jaehwan probably put in exactly the kind of powders Taekwoon used to like. He doesn’t tell Jaehwan that he’s stopped smoking. He says nothing. Jaehwan continues to hold the roll between them, but Taekwoon won’t let Jaehwan derail him. He asks, “Why were you crying last night?

And just like that, Jaehwan tucks the roll of powder back behind the ledge of his ear. “We don’t have to talk about it.” He stuffs his hands in coat pockets. His shoes are on, hair and makeup done, buttoned in his coat. He’s standing by the door. He bounces on his heels.

Taekwoon looks at the curved shape of Jaehwan’s lips. The high slopes and the small dip of his cupid’s bow, full lower lip. It’s enhanced by the red, sticky gloss he wears, what they have him wear for his productions.

Taekwoon says, “Only if you want to.” He props his feet on a stack of books, something called _102 Ways to Transform Your Potion Cabinet_ , something that’s probably Hongbin’s, something Taekwoon’s definitely never read. “It’s humid outside right now,” he comments, looking at Jaehwan’s coat, “but it’ll cool off later, close to morning.”

“Oh.” Jaehwan peers around at the window as if he could see the state of the air just from looking through the curtain sheers, but it’s close to midnight. He nods at Taekwoon; his fists are balled in his pockets. “Thanks.”

It’s coming –– Taekwoon can tell. It’s coming.

Jaehwan nods once more and turns away. He pulls on the doorknob, struggling with it as always, and Taekwoon half-stands but Jaehwan wrenches it open. He leaves without saying goodbye.

And, for once, Taekwoon is wrong.

Hongbin doesn’t have much to add about the subject, shrugging when Taekwoon asks. “He hasn’t told me anything.” Hongbin fusses with the state of the book pile on Taekwoon’s coffee table, dusting off his confirmed copy of _102 Ways to Transform Your Potion Cabinet_.

“You talk to him.”

Hongbin, soft pink hair in his eyes, gives Taekwoon the look. The one that’s completely serious and asks Taekwoon to be serious. “He didn’t come to me crying.” There’s a pause. “Are you positive he was crying?”

“I think I’d know.” And Taekwoon can feel his brows dip. This again. That night. Jaehwan tumbled through the door and into Taekwoon, and…he kind of stuck there, right in Taekwoon’s arms, and Taekwoon’s arms came up far too fast to feign indifference toward Jaehwan’s tears, what could be wrong this time. His fingers twisting in Jaehwan’s coat, Taekwoon kept him there.

Jaehwan doesn’t cry. Aside from that night, Taekwoon’s only seen him do it twice since they put childhood behind, and each time it’s always been a few tears slipping here and there, Jaehwan’s sleeves swiping them away before Taekwoon could watch them fall.

Hongbin pushes Taekwoon’s foot off the stack he’s trying to organize. “You two are ridiculous.”

Taekwoon folds his arms. “Not my fault.”

They stare at each other, and Hongbin shrugs. He and Hongbin haven’t been over it in the most exact terms, but Hongbin never seems satisfied when the conversation comes up, like this is a huge injustice to him –– Jaehwan and Taekwoon, duo for so long, now almost strangers.

Taekwoon’s not satisfied either.

“Listen,” Hongbin says, “I’m not taking sides –– I can’t take sides between you two –– but I’m sure he had his reasons.” He swats Taekwoon’s foot as he tries to put it back on Hongbin’s stack. Hongbin tries again, “Maybe he needed to try stuff for himself, you know? He was always with you; maybe it’s an independence thing.”

Taekwoon purses his lips. Hongbin’s tried this angle before. It never makes Taekwoon feel better. He grumbles, “Everything was fine when he was here; I don’t know what he needed to find.”

“You didn’t always react the best to, uh, the things he tried.”

“He was playing with chaos magic, Hongbin. I found the summoning books in his room. It’s not my fault he’s,” Taekwoon licks his lips, leaning his head against the back of the couch, “he’s keen on ruining himself.”

“It’s been years since then, and I don’t think ‘ruin’ is the right word. He’s lonely.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Taekwoon bites his lip. That’s too far. He doesn’t have to look at Hongbin to know. He leans forward to bring his coffee cup to his mouth.

Hongbin purses his lips. He seems keen on insulting Taekwoon, but then he deflates, putting his hands back into his lap with a long sigh. There’s not enough understanding in the world for anyone to absorb both sides of the hurt –– Taekwoon’s solitary confinement and Jaehwan’s roaming. The house has become Taekwoon’s fortress, will let very few in.

Hongbin sits on Taekwoon’s couch knowing he’s an exception, but Taekwoon can tell he’s tired of being the referee. “Try to put yourself in his shoes.” Hongbin’s not reaching for Taekwoon, but his eyes are. “Everyone has fights, Taekwoon; you two just….”

“It’s been over a year.” And softer, “Jaehwan has plenty of people to run to.”

“Right, and you’re still one of them.” Hongbin heaves himself off the couch. “He doesn’t want to talk, but you should. You really should. You two are still friends even if he doesn’t live here anymore.”

Hongbin leaves, also leaving his spell-book behind –– Taekwoon wonders if he does it on purpose –– and he stares at the door for a long while as he thinks on what Hongbin’s told him. Taekwoon falls onto his side to put his face into the couch cushions, mouthing Hongbin’s ending sentiment with consistency.

_We’re friends. We’re supposed to be friends._

In the first few weeks without Jaehwan, Taekwoon slept on this couch, waiting for him. Jaehwan was nowhere –– or rather, he was somewhere but not with Taekwoon. Not home. Taekwoon was left to his job of boiling potions in his cauldron and making draughts for old, leathered ladies, and….

And Taekwoon was angry.

Again, Hakyeon stares at him from behind the counter, but tonight Taekwoon’s not asking for a drink. Hakyeon’s cat eyes are slightly unnerving. But Taekwoon thinks they’d be just as piercing if Hakyeon was fully human –– that it might just be in his nature to stare through people, read them so well.

“You’re so sad.”

The music swathes Taekwoon’s aching mind. Hakyeon speaks truth but the music softens the blow like it softens their volume; Hakyeon has to raise his voice for Taekwoon to even hear him.

Taekwoon answers but not quite as loud. “I’m fine.”

He’s sure Hakyeon reads lips because the bartender wrinkles his nose, apparently hearing Taekwoon. “You can’t keep letting yourself fall into this, you know that?”

If it was that easy, Taekwoon wouldn’t be here so often to cop drinks and advice off Hakyeon. Taekwoon drags his hands over his face. It comes in phases. Just when he thinks he’s over it, some sort of something will propel him back full-force into his side-line watching. Watching Jaehwan come and go –– he doesn’t have to do it anymore but he does.

He peers at Hakyeon between his fingers. “I know.”

Hakyeon offers him a sympathetic look, leaning in a little closer. Tonight there’s blue sparkles dusting his eyelids, tops of his cheeks. “He just wants your attention.”

“He gets plenty of it. Mine and others.” Taekwoon’s dreary mood escalates back to being irritated. “He’s only really been to see me a few times since…he first left. Besides,” Taekwoon swallows, “he’s got some guy to mess around with.”

Hakyeon’s quiet. He’s had to hear all about this guy in varying shades of passive-aggressive character questioning to outright dislike. Taekwoon hasn’t been secretive or choosy with his complaints.

Unprompted, Taekwoon continues, “I don’t know –– Jaehwan mentioned it before; he’s another singing-actor. Probably one of those stage snobs.” Taekwoon’s chewing on his thumb, but he doesn’t realize until Hakyeon reaches over to disengage it from his mouth.

“You need to talk to him. Say something. This is the boy you’ve been agonizing over for, what, a year?”

Taekwoon says it under his breath: “Longer than that.”

Hakyeon’s not necessarily anti-Jaehwan. He’s anti-lack-of-communication. He sighs now. “You can’t let this keep going on. I know you must like him a lot, but all you’re doing now is treading water, Taekwoon. Get out or go under –– those are your options.”

Or do nothing. Keep treading. Taekwoon doesn’t say that, though.

“He keeps coming back to you,” Hakyeon tells him, poking Taekwoon’s outstretched hand, “so figure out what he wants.”

Not like he hasn’t thought of that. He’s tried talking to Jaehwan, but Jaehwan brushes him off, leaves, or switches the subject. They’ve been (were) friends for so long that Taekwoon didn’t expect Jaehwan’s initial departure to cause this grand schism, that he would come back. But he didn’t. And now Taekwoon doesn’t even know how to talk to him.

He left Taekwoon’s guitar on his porch along with the necklace –– also Taekwoon’s –– that he’d been wearing since they even moved into the damn house. Taekwoon remembers watching them, their friendship, disintegrate in a matter of days. Jaehwan made himself scarce and for a solid three months, Taekwoon couldn’t have told anyone where he was. He got desperate, tried a locator spell, and received thick fog instead. Blocked signal.

Even Hongbin was clueless to Jaehwan’s whereabouts. Jaehwan left him out of it too. All the friends who could have known something pretended that they didn’t. Taekwoon was persistent, and in truth, he never stopped asking for him.

He lost himself in his work. Making spells and brewing potions and selling his work to old people who needed healing poultices and ghosts extricated from their attic, and Taekwoon did his best to think of anything that wasn’t Jaehwan in relation. He didn’t pick up his guitar. He didn’t go to the street corner and sing.

Then three months later Jaehwan showed up on their doorstep with his hair styled and lips red, dressed in nice clothes, but it wasn’t to come home. It wasn’t to explain himself. “I’m singing at the theatre,” he said. Taekwoon couldn’t get over his shock. Jaehwan also said, “I’m also living in an apartment close to the theatre; I need to get some of my stuff.”

And their house became Taekwoon’s house.

Taekwoon felt the words on his tongue then. He’s not sure what he did to drive Jaehwan out, but he would fix it if it meant he would come home, and they could surely fix it, and Taekwoon would make sure not to hurt him again.

But Jaehwan wasn’t there for that. He grabbed some of his things, gave Taekwoon a smile that tried to gloss over the three months of Taekwoon sleeping on the couch and wondering where he was, said, “See you around,” and walked back out the door.

Taekwoon couldn’t say a single word.

Taekwoon’s anger has long-since burned out into something that throbs weakly, painfully, in his chest. It makes him ache after Jaehwan’s sporadic visits; it makes him keep waiting until the next one –– if there is one. Hongbin always says to talk to Jaehwan, in less urgent terms than Hakyeon, but Jaehwan doesn’t want to, and Taekwoon isn’t one to push but hates the way that they are now.

Jaehwan’s been there with him through so much and now…. Now there’s nothing.

Taekwoon rubs his shoulder, shutting his door behind him, stumbling around furniture in the dark even though he hasn’t touched alcohol. The rain started coming down right after he left the bar and chased him all the way home, and his boots squelch against the floors as he tracks puddles across his house. Taekwoon’s stomach rumbles to remind him that he’s barely eaten anything today, and he instead of heading up the stairs he walks into his kitchen–– And he freezes.

Jaehwan sits on his kitchen counter, open bottle of liquor resting on his knee. Taekwoon blinks, paused in the doorway. In seconds Taekwoon notes the smeared lipgloss around Jaehwan’s mouth, his red eyes, and that the front of his white shirt unbuttoned to near his naval. Jaehwan’s second hand plays with two yellow sparks, spinning them in circles in the palm of his hand, and they cast flashes of warm light against his watery expression.

The rain comes down in torrents –– it’s been playing this game of start and stop for weeks now –– but here Jaehwan sits, dry as he’s perched on the counter. Taekwoon drops his satchel where he stands. He takes slow steps toward Jaehwan, but before Taekwoon reaches him, the latter’s sparks fizz into the air.

“It’s nothing –– n– nothing,” Jaehwan hiccups, voice thick and glass bottle shaking. His bottom lip trembles, and he hides his face in his shirt sleeve.

“What’s wrong?”

Jaehwan rubs his face against the sleeve.

“Jaehwan, what’s wrong?” Taekwoon’s hands itch to tuck the curl of hair away from his forehead even though his hands are wet. “It’s okay; Jaehwan, you can tell me.” Taekwoon looks at the sticky, shimmer of gloss around his mouth, wonders how it got smeared like that –– there’s no traces on the backs of his hands.

With his teeth dug into his bottom lip, Jaehwan looks undone. Streetlight filters through the kitchen window above the sink. The light shows Taekwoon the small bruises on Jaehwan’s chest. Leftover hickeys from someone else, but they look faded. Jaehwan wears some sort of aftermath, and Taekwoon can’t discern when it’s from –– it’s from _someone_ –– but he wants to take his hands and put them on Jaehwan. Comfort him.

Jaehwan shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders and the parting of his lips. His eyes meet Taekwoon’s for a long moment, and he asks, “Would you get revenge on someone?”

Taekwoon nods as the cold shiver runs through him. “Yeah. I would.”

“Like if someone hurt you, would you make them pay?” The bottle bounces with the wiggle of Jaehwan’s knee. His eyes keep darting around, slipping out of Taekwoon’s gaze and ignoring him although he stands in a majority of Jaehwan’s range of vision. Jaehwan places the bottle on the counter and tries to fold his shirt closed without buttoning it.

Taekwoon blinks. Jaehwan’s initial question of revenge was not whether Taekwoon would or would not exact it for Jaehwan’s sake but for himself. Taekwoon swallows. “Depends, but yeah.” He looks at the bottle on the counter. It looks as if only a few sips have been taken from it.

“I, uh,” Jaehwan gulps. “The guy I was seeing –– we broke it off.” He keeps his eyes down. “Or, I did. I mean –– I walked out.”

“Are you alright?”

Jaehwan shrugs again. The movement sends two drips of tears to roll down his face, and it pales in comparison to the amount of water Taekwoon is leaving on the kitchen floor, but he doesn’t care about the lake forming around his feet. Jaehwan ducks his head, tears dripping onto his pants, like he’s hiding away.

“Why?” Taekwoon’s voice is soft, softer than he feels. “Why’d you leave?” He feels so much more desperate than he manages to sound. _Friends –– we’re friends; you can tell me._

Jaehwan’s shoulders are moving in small shakes inside his loose shirt, and he sniffs deeply. “He was cheating on me. He had some sort of backstage boy.”

“Is that what the other night was about?”

“…yeah.”

“Jaehwan, you can talk to me.”

Jaehwan pushes the bottle of liquor even further away. “I didn’t like him a whole lot, but I still….” He meets Taekwoon’s eyes. “I feel so stupid.”

“It’s okay.”

“He’s such an asshole. He really always has been, I guess.” Jaehwan shifts his knees, opening them. “We got into a fight,” he says on a swallow. He’s willing the tears away. “Just now. I’m not––”

“Did he touch you?” Taekwoon stands on the edge of his anger, pent up for so long. His magic already shines at his fingertips. “Jaehwan, are you alright?”

“Just–– just tried to kiss me.” Stumbling over words, Jaehwan is clumsy with the subject, probably concerned about his audience. His eyes keep flickering to Taekwoon’s hands. “It’s okay, Taekwoon.”

He doesn’t care.

Jaehwan keeps his eyes on the strengthening color of blue radiating from Taekwoon’s hands. “Don’t worry. I gave him hell for it.”

Taekwoon shivers in his wet clothes. He wills his magic to stay behind its walls, to regain some form of control. He can tell Jaehwan is trying to reassure him, to calm him down. Maybe this is why Jaehwan doesn’t tell him anything.

“And this?” Taekwoon fingers the material of Jaehwan’s shirt, not meaning the marks. Those are old, he’s sure, but he just has to know. “Why’d you unbutton it?”

“I did that after I got here.”

“Why?”

“It’s been a bad night.”

Taekwoon remembers the long bouts of Jaehwan and the mirror. He won’t make Jaehwan elaborate on his insecurities. So many words bubble on his tongue; he wants to say them all; he doesn’t wan to scare him away.

Taekwoon shouldn’t but he reaches a finger out to sweep that curl of hair away from Jaehwan’s forehead, out of his eye. “Oh, yeah?”

Jaehwan nods. “You know how I am.”

Taekwoon works his jaw. He longs to say, _you’re beautiful as you are; what you see, I don’t_. But instead he tells him, “You look fine, Jaehwan.”

“Do you really think so?” There’s something off in his tone, and Taekwoon’s fingers pull away. “Taekwoon, do you miss me?”

And just like that, Taekwoon’s anger comes rushing back, directing itself at Jaehwan. All those nights worrying where Jaehwan was. Sleeping on the couch in case he tried to come home. Taekwoon has been here since day one –– from the orphanage they left together through all the other shit they’ve been through. Taekwoon has always looked out for Jaehwan.

Voice gravelly, Taekwoon asks, “What do you mean?”

“I miss you. It’s– We’re not like how we were before.”

The words finally come loose. “I didn’t turn you out. You left. You could’ve come home.”

Jaehwan wipes his eyes. “So you are mad.”

“You thought I wouldn’t be?”

Taekwoon wants a fight, but Jaehwan’s tone remains calm. “I wasn’t sure.”

While they lived together, there were periods of time when Jaehwan was not around, like the patch of months where Jaehwan was “finding himself” through midnight company in the backs of bars, the chaos magic, the hands of older men. That was at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, but he always came home –– no matter how worried Taekwoon was. It’s been a few years since then, but….

“I thought you’d be back. I didn’t think you’d leave for good.” Emotion welling in his chest, Taekwoon, after all this time, finally asks, “Why’d you leave?”

Jaehwan stays quiet.

With the chorus of the rain against house, echoing loud in the dark kitchen, Taekwoon repeats himself. “Why’d you leave?” He omits out the very telling, very pitiful, “me” at the end.

Jaehwan presses his lips together.

“You never explained yourself.”

“You never asked––”

“You could’ve told me if I did something to– to hurt you, Jaehwan.”

Jaehwan laughs, shocking Taekwoon into silence. The other leans his head back against the cabinet to stare at the ceiling. “It wasn’t you. More of a personal thing.”

Taekwoon’s not sure how to digest that information. His brain only semi-wraps around it; his anger bounces off the walls of his chest with no release. “This whole time,” he says, “I thought it was something I did.”

“Sounds self-centered of you.” Jaehwan means it as a joke but the tears in his voice and the fact that it’s been fourteen months, near fifteen, that Taekwoon’s been waiting for this conversation ruins it.

Taekwoon’s need to fight deflates as quickly as it came about. He says, “Jaehwan, it’s not like we haven’t–– I would’ve understood if you told me you wanted some space. We aren’t kids anymore.”

Taekwoon folds his arms together, feeling foolish for misunderstanding but also hurt that Jaehwan expected him to not blame himself. What does Jaehwan think about him to think that Taekwoon wouldn’t care if he just disappeared and moved out? He says, “I’m sorry if I ever made it hard for you.”

Jaehwan frowns. “That’s what I’m trying to say; don’t steal my words.”

“What’s wrong, Jaehwan?”

Slowly, Jaehwan’s hand comes up to grip Taekwoon’s shoulder. They’re close, and Taekwoon’s pulled closer, between the V of Jaehwan’s legs. “Just trying to finally say sorry.”

Taekwoon finds himself leaning forward into Jaehwan’s touch. He misses his friend; the house is too big and quiet without him. He misses their duets on the street. He misses Jaehwan’s inexplicable explosions after hovering over Taekwoon’s cauldron for mere seconds, ruining whatever he’d been working on. The little moments of theirs are nonexistent, and Taekwoon very much misses him. He loves him, and he may never say it, but he wants something rather than nothing.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Taekwoon breathes out. It feels good to say, so Taekwoon also admits, “It’s much too quiet without anyone over. With just me here.”

“Hongbin comes over.”

“Hongbin’s your friend, though.”

“Maybe at first, but he talks about you a lot.” Jaehwan’s voice is starting to sound better, but his eyes remain red. “And…there’s that guy at the bar.”

“Did Hongbin tell you that?”

“He did. He tells me you go there a lot. Is he nice?”

“Yeah, I guess. He lets me get away with not paying my tab.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“It's not like that.” Taekwoon doesn’t question Jaehwan’s curiosity; Jaehwan always used to wonder about Taekwoon’s relationships. “Besides, I wouldn’t anyway.”

Jaehwan’s fingers grip tighter, but Taekwoon’s not sure if Jaehwan’s even aware of it. “You slept with that girl. You remember? The vampire.”

Taekwoon doesn’t take the time to correct Jaehwan. She wasn’t a real vampire, only faking it to make herself seem interesting. But, because he doesn’t like being reminded: “I didn’t think you would bring up relationship history.”

“S– sorry, Taekwoon, I just….” Jaehwan drops off. “That’s why I left. You wanted to know.”

Taekwoon doesn’t like the way it sounds. He unfolds and refolds his arms, not quite understanding how the two correlate. “I slept with someone, and that’s what made you leave? You’ve slept with plenty of people; I didn’t move out because of it.”

“You brought her home, though, Taekwoon; I never brought anyone home.”

“I didn’t think you were coming home that night.” Taekwoon scoffs. “You were out so much; I really didn’t think you’d have such a problem with it.”

Jaehwan shrugs and lets his fingers slip away from Taekwoon. “Doesn’t matter now. I was stupid. I told you it wasn’t because of you. I just…I was in a rough spot with myself.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“It doesn’t matter, Taekwoon. It wasn’t your fault.” He bites his lower lip. The streetlight from outside, coming through the window over the sink, has Jaehwan’s silhouette in a beautiful sort of illumination with shadow cast over his front. He looks like a cathedral’s angel that was denied their spotlight. “So,” Jaehwan looks away, “would you get revenge on him? If you were me. Would you?”

“Depends,” Taekwoon repeats. Feels like a lie.

“He deserves it.” Jaehwan rubs at his nose but then focuses on something above Taekwoon’s head. It draws a small chuckle out of him. “You still haven’t fixed that?”

Taekwoon tilts his head upward although he knows Jaehwan means the hole in the ceiling. It’s really just severely dented plaster, but a slight touch would probably truly ruin it. Jaehwan used to say it was Taekwoon’s personal crater.

“No. Haven’t fixed it.” Taekwoon chooses his words. “You’re the one who did it, so I was thinking you should fix it.”

A small smile brings Jaehwan’s face out of its dreary shade. Like routine clockwork, the gears slowly turn. “Sure, but you were the one who told me to try out my levitation spell.”

“You didn’t have to shoot me into the ceiling.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You almost knocked me out.”

“I should’ve.” Jaehwan looks around the kitchen, and Taekwoon watches him drag his eyes over the damage they’ve given this place.

The burn in the rug underneath the living room’s coffee table (exactly why the coffee table is there now), which was decided as neither’s fault. The broken porch step –– Jaehwan’s fault. Taekwoon’s window in his room doesn’t open correctly thanks to past rough-housing –– entirely and unforgivingly Jaehwan’s fault no matter what he claims. Even the front door locks precariously thanks to Taekwoon’s spell gone wrong; Jaehwan claims responsibility for that.

Jaehwan’s fingers. Back to squeezing Taekwoon’s shoulder. “Would– would you let me back? Like, back in the house?”

“You don’t have to ask, Jaehwan.”

“Really, I’m so sorry for it all. And, it’s not just because I’m upset that I’m telling you now,” Jaehwan confesses, sniffing for good measure. “I’ve been thinking about it for awhile.”

Taekwoon reaches up to grab Jaehwan’s hand, holding it steady in his grip. “Next time––” _Don’t let there be a next time_ , “––can you promise to tell me if something’s wrong? We can talk.” Taekwoon pauses for a breath. “I don’t want you to leave again. Not like that.”

Jaehwan nods –– nods profusely, like his head is only loosely hinged. “No, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” His smile peeks through, and Taekwoon grits his back teeth together to keep from smiling as well. “I bet you’ve turned my room into your own library.”

“I may have.” (He hasn’t. The room looks just the same in an untouched, preserved sort of way. Jaehwan will have to see for himself because Taekwoon won’t tell him.)

Jaehwan laughs –– not so compressed, stronger. And very suddenly, Taekwoon realizes he’s back. Like that. Jaehwan’s sitting on their counter, looking at Taekwoon, and the wall is still there but now they can start tearing it down. Because losing Jaehwan isn’t an option.

And, somehow, Jaehwan still looks tense. Withholding. Taekwoon hasn’t let go of his hand yet, so he gives Jaehwan a squeeze. “What else is wrong?”

Jaehwan licks his lips. “You’re probably not gonna like it.”

Rain pounds into the silence. Taekwoon forces out, “Tell me anyway.”

Squirming. Still holding Taekwoon’s hand. Squeezing tight. “You can’t get mad.”

“I––” Taekwoon stops his words short. He breathes. “I…promise.”

Jaehwan offers an unsteady smile, squeezing Taekwoon’s hand as hard as he can. “What if– What if I summoned a demon? What would you say to that?”

Taekwoon exorcises ghosts. Not demons. He can feel his thoughts stop short, and he nearly falls over at the thought. “Jaehwan. Demon? You called up a demon.”

“I expected a bit more of this.” He pushes on Taekwoon’s eyebrows to scrunch them. But Taekwoon can only stare at him. Jaehwan sucks in a breath. “I’m not the brightest; everyone knows.”

“That’s not it. Jaehwan. Of all things you––”

“I, yeah. I have to, uh, put it back.”

Taekwoon rubs his lips together as he comprehends what the hell Jaehwan was doing summoning a demon. He’s never been the best at spells, and Taekwoon’s sure that applies to summonings –– he summoned a demon. “A summoning circle? You drew a summoning circle.”

“And called up a demon; that’s typically how you do it. Look, Taekwoon, don’t tell anyone because I’m this close to getting fired at the theatre, and I really don’t want to get arrested, and this will really just make everything worse.” Jaehwan looks close to ducking back into his sleeves.

“Okay, yeah.” Taekwoon’s vaguely aware of how hard their hands are gripping each other. “You’re alright, though?”

Jaehwan blinks. “I’m fine. You’re not angry?”

“Not angry.” And he isn’t –– not about the demon. Just wondering how this all happened. Thankful that Jaehwan’s okay. Very thankful that he’s back. “It’s late. Can’t do anything about it tonight. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

Jaehwan mutters, “You don’t have to help, Taekwoon. I know a pair who specialize in the sort of thing.”

“It’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”

Jaehwan falls silent but his hand doesn’t leave Taekwoon’s, and this is too real, he thinks. Shivers trickle down his spine. A warm thrum of blue envelops his hand and yellow follows soon after, the two colors swirling about their joined hands, and the soft bubble of Jaehwan’s laugh feels just right. It all feels right.

Reunited.

**Author's Note:**

> \- don't h8 jhwn his side will be explained more in ((possible)) future entries  
> \- their lack of communication frustrates me too  
> \- thanks for reading♡♡


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